


Overture

by street-howitzer (NothingEnough)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Confessions, Cultural Differences, Drinking, First Kiss, M/M, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Smoking, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-12
Updated: 2010-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingEnough/pseuds/street-howitzer
Summary: The Lord of Ithilien attends a Dwarf wedding, and is inspired to admit to a few things he might not have otherwise.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lenticular](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenticular/gifts).



It was winter in Ithilien, and still, it was too warm to snow. The air was chilled, more sharply edged, and when the Sun rose in the early morning, each blade of grass and tree-twig glittered with a crusting of frost. This melted within two hours of Sunrise, leaving the landscape damp and muddy, bereft of any color but indistinct browns and greens. Snow did bury the nearby Mountains of Shadows, making them look less like a mountain range and more like a collection of glaciers. The Elves generally thought their new abode was the least pleasant during the winter-time. Their memories recalled the ever-blooming forests of Lothlórien, and judged Ithilien the poorer by comparison.

Winter was a strange time. The Mountains seemed closer, and served as a silent reminder of what and Who once dwelt beyond them. The winds from the Sea were strong and cold, scenting every breath with salt and driving more than one Elf to drift to the Havens. And in winter, the Lord of Ithilien most often hosted his favorite guest.

No Elf would deny Gimli's battle prowess, or his importance to the Fellowship. But those deeds did not, in many Elves' opinions, obligate them to like a Dwarf. After all, there had been hobbits in the Fellowship, yet they were not expected to host any of _those_ more than once every few years. Yet Gimli was invited every other winter to dwell with the Elves, and although some might have wished otherwise, he never failed to appear.

This winter, Legolas was as impatient as ever for Gimli to arrive. The preparations began the instant the invitation was sent to the Dwarf-Lord. A few rooms were prepared for Gimli; meals were planned, as was a small celebration. Legolas's excitement curdled into anxiousness, as his guest had not yet sent word when those rooms were completed. He grew somewhat more distempered, almost sullen. This ill mood lasted until a freezing night in late December, when he was startled from his resting-dreams with the news of a Dwarf-man who'd just arrived at his hall.

He smiled at that news, and asked for the Dwarf to be brought to the sitting-room while he dressed. His smile was a poorly-constructed mask over his disappointment: his guard had not identified the Dwarf as Gimli. He knew that he would be greeting one of his friend's subjects, but he did not yet understand why that friend was absent.

He met with his new guest--a Dwarf he recognized from his visits to the Glittering Caves, but had never spoken with before. The Dwarf granted him a low bow, which Legolas returned. "You must forgive me for appearing before you in the place of my Lord," his guest said. "He was expected here, but he cannot leave the Caves."

Legolas was too surprised at this to welcome his guest to Ithilien. "What do you mean by that? Is Gimli ill?"

"Not ill, Lord." He opened a pouch on his belt, and from it produced a short scroll of parchment. "I'd rather not tell you anything he does not discuss in this. He wanted it brought to you in his stead."

Legolas nodded, but he was barely listening to the Dwarf--once he had the scroll, all his focus was on what it said. _My good Legolas,_ so it casually started, _I must apologize to you for not appearing in person, but it couldn't be avoided. There will soon be a wedding held under my roof, and the preparations are not so complete that I can yet escape from them. I will not be able to visit you until later in the winter._

 _If you would be willing, we may attempt something different this time. I have been speaking with Hanar, and after many months of discussion, he has agreed to allow you to visit us during the celebration. We do not often wed, Legolas, and when we do, we don't allow outsiders to witness it. But, thanks to our friendship, you are welcome to join us in celebrating Hanar's happiness. We can still have our yearly meeting, but in a different setting._ Below all of this, in scrawling runes, was Gimli's name.

Legolas glanced up from the scroll. The Dwarven messenger was still standing before him, tired but unwilling to go without dismissal. "I will write a response," he said. "Until I complete it, you can rest in the room meant for your Lord, or stop by the kitchen, depending on your needs." As he spoke, the Elf's mind turned over the idea of being invited to a Dwarven wedding. So much of what Gimli thought and felt seemed alien to Legolas. How foreign would such a private ceremony seem to him? Even so, he never considered rejecting the invitation. He'd been looking forward to this visit for some months, and he would accept it in whatever form it took.

The messenger bowed, then turned to leave.

"Wait a moment," the Elf said, making his guest pause. "I'm presuming this ceremony will be taking place soon. It would therefore be best if I left as soon as possible. You are free to remain in my hall as long as you like, but I will prepare to leave here in an hour."

"I can be ready in an hour," the Dwarf said stoutly, "if I may be allowed to smoke my pipe after I take my meal. I'll be more comfortable when I've put my back to this forest."

***

Legolas's servants did not ask why they were roused in the middle of an icy night to help their Lord pack, or prepare him a horse. Such questions did not have to be verbalized when they could be read in every sideways glance and softly-spoken word. His strange friendship with Gimli was at best tolerated by his people, none of whom appreciated very much about Dwarves. Certainly they did not understand anyone who would willingly leave their own lands, even in the damp of December, to visit a pile of wet rocks with holes bored into them.

That was meet. He was a proud Lord, and a proud warrior, and he didn't like to confess to something as base as selfishness: but truthfully, Legolas was glad that no Elves attempted to follow him to the Caves. With the Dwarf traveling with him, he could excuse his usual security detail. In this fashion, he kept the Caves a secret between himself and his comrade.

Not that it would be the only secret held between them. There were others, most related to the War, some about which they had not yet spoken.

He and his new companion left in the night, and traveled as quickly as could be managed in wintertime west to Helm's Deep. Along the way, he asked little of Frár, and therefore learned more from the Dwarf than he would have by prying. Frár proudly described to him how the shaping and sculpting of the Glittering Caves had advanced since his last visit--several nights he spent telling stories of a garden of diamonds cautiously polished into bloom, or the opening of a new passage into chambers no living being had ever before entered.

Frár had no interest in the wedding, being related neither to Hanar the future-husband or An the future-wife. He could tell only a little about either of them, and he was completely unwilling to describe any details of the ceremony to Legolas. He was as fond of hoarding information as any Dwarf. This left the Elf feeling unsteady by the time they'd crossed the dozens of leagues to the Caves: he did not know what to expect. For one thing, he was used to being greeted at the Caves' entrance by its guards; but waiting there on their arrival was Gimli himself. He was wearing a dark green cloak Legolas did not recognize. The cowl was pulled up over his head. As he watched them approach, he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and chilled breath, then set his pipe aside.

Frár bowed to his Lord, who immediately dismissed him to refresh himself with ale. Gimli could not smother his delighted smile, anymore than Legolas could suppress his own happiness. It had been mere months and forever since he'd seen his friend; and meeting him under changed circumstances did not alter his joy.

"I thought that you'd come immediately," Gimli said once they were alone. "In truth, I counted on it: I thought that you would arrive either yesternight or tonight, and here you are, on the very night of the wedding."

"I'm glad that my timing won't ruin your plans," Legolas said, still smiling. "Still, I am somewhat in the dark. I gather that your kinsmens' traditions are somewhat more elaborate than mine, but Frár wouldn't tell me what I can expect of it. Am I permitted to know anything beforehand?"

"A little. Before we go in, you should change out of that travel-cloak. This one's more appropriate for the ceremony." Gimli offered a neatly-folded cloak to the Elf. It was as green as the one Gimli wore, and similar to it in every way but size.

Legolas murmured his thanks, then undid his own cloak and donned the one Gimli gifted him. He assumed that this present should be worn as the Dwarves wore theirs, so he also pulled the cowl down over his black hair.

"There!" Gimli said, sounding greatly pleased. "You look like a proper _sigin-khuzd_ at last. Come with me. The men have already gathered in their drinking-hall, and are trying to tell of their exploits. We should join them."

The Glittering Caves had subtly changed since last the Prince of Mirkwood had walked its caverns. He was led by Gimli into chamber after dimly-lit chamber. Every lamp was half-drawn shut, casting armies of shadows on the walls and ceilings, sending weak beams of light scattershot over the rivers of ore and polished outcroppings of gem. Gimli's people kept themselves busy, and during most of his visits, there were Dwarves bustling about at all hours of the night. But now Legolas and his friend walked alone.

Soon, the sounds of revelry--laughter, the slamming of mugs onto tabletops, the shifting of chairs--reached them. Legolas glanced at Gimli.

"That'll be the men," the Dwarf said. "There'll be plenty of beer, Legolas--enough to satisfy even you--but I must admit that there are some concessions I had to make in order for you to attend. One relates to this ceremony. My kin agree that you may stand in the room with us, and that you may share our drink. But they request that you do not sit at the table with us, and that you do not interfere with the ceremony."

"That's unfair," Legolas said. His anger was not directed at his friend, precisely, but at the distrust of the Dwarves. "I didn't travel all this way so that I could stand silently in the corner."

"Do not look down on the offer! You're still being welcomed into my home. They have even agreed to speak in Westron, so that you may follow what is being said. Were it my choice alone, it might have gone differently, but it isn't my wedding."

"I suppose it isn't. Very well. I will stand where you direct."

Gimli led him at last to the drinking-hall, as he called it. It appeared to be a dining-room that had been renamed for the duration of the evening. It was both secretive and invitational, narrow and long, with a well-wrought table running down its entire length. Half its seats were occupied by Dwarves. They were all dressed in cloaks of various colors, with their hoods pulled over their heads. Every one present had a mug of beer either in his hand or on the table before him. Along the wall to Legolas's left was a spotlessly-clean fireplace housing a good fire; the flames caught varied facets of shining stones lodged in the polished floors, and glimmered off a spiralling vein of silver on the opposing wall.

An older Dwarf in blue stood near the head of the table. When they first entered, he was lecturing those present in Khuzdûl, but as he noted the new guests, he switched with difficulty to Westron. Legolas was too irritated over being denied a chair to listen to what he said. He accepted the mug of beer that Gimli offered him, then stood near the door as his friend crossed to a chair near the head of the table.

Oh, well. At least he knew he was holding a good ale, and although he preferred wine, he'd never turned down Dwarven alcohol. He took a long drink, savoring the perfect coolness and the dark complexity of its flavor, and idly wished that the hobbits were there to appreciate it. Pippin always was mad for beer.

When he glanced up from his now-half-empty mug, Legolas realized that the older Dwarf had sat down. The Dwarf to his left--at least two dozen years his senior, and cloaked in green--stood up in his stead. He was discussing a bridge he'd engineered and shaped in the easternmost wing of the Glittering Caves, one that stretched across an underground river and joined the eastern areas to the north more solidly.

The Elf-Lord thought that the other Dwarves would be duly impressed by such a feat, but his guess was wrong. To his surprise, the gathered Dwarves guffawed, shook their heads, and drummed their empty mugs against the tabletop. "For all that bridge is worth, we might as well've strung a handkerchief across the chasm!" one called.

"The handkerchief would last longer, for sure!" another said.

"Tell us instead about the great battle you fought last year," the Dwarf at the head of the table said. He was the only man in the room dressed in black, with fine silver threads glinting from the hem of his cloak. He took a long drink of ale. "The one 'tween you and what you thought was a goblin."

"It looked enough like a goblin at mid-night," the elder Dwarf muttered, and sat back down.

It went thus for many minutes. Each Dwarf in turn would stand, whether he was already shaky with ale or not, and as Gimli had aptly put it, they would try to tell of the gross of orcs they'd slain, weapons they'd meticulously constructed after the make of their fathers, and cunning craftwork they'd employed in the Glittering Caves or in Erebor. And each time, he would be shouted down by his heckling, needling audience.

After working through two mugs of beer himself, it occurred to Legolas that this wasn't a boisterous gathering of irreverent Dwarves, but a deliberate and calculating game. The object of the speaker, he noted, was to try and keep talking of his own prides as long as possible; and the object of the audience was to knock him off his game, until he was either too ashamed to stand before them, or unable to remember where he'd left off. Most of those present had apparently been playing this game for decades, as they were quite skilled at bringing their fellows back into their seats within minutes of their standing.

As was inevitable, the role of speaking eventually came round to Gimli. The Elf had been looking forward to this, once he realized that such would take place--he was eager to hear what his friend would have to say, and curious to know how well the other Dwarves would mock their Lord. As it happened, they were excellent at skewering Gimli's abilities at forging; but when he began to name the number of Orc-necks he'd hewn during the War, the wedding party began to fall silent. The sheer number was impressive, and it was difficult not to remember that some of that Orc-blood had been spilled within these very Caves.

Some minutes passed, and now, no one interrupted the Dwarf-Lord as he spoke of their travels during the War. Legolas was untouched by the melancholy that began to sink over the crowd. Rather he grew piqued at how no one was able to jest over the one thing that, in his opinion, needed to be laughed at: if the game's object was to make light of all things serious, than it certainly should make light of one of the most serious things to touch their lives. So it was that, as Gimli began to describe his walk on the Paths of the Dead, Legolas broke his promise to remain silent and interrupted him:

"A hobbit would have walked those Paths with none of the fear you showed, Lord Gimli."

It was as if all of the air was sucked out of the room. So many Dwarves gasped that, for a moment, Legolas thought the fire would die for lack of air. A roomful of eyes that had hitherto only glanced at him in curious passing were now all on him.

"A hobbit would have run like a rabbit from the Paths," Gimli said, his gravelly voice struggling between irritation and affection.

"I say no. In fact, I say that you did nothing but get in the way of those who truly completed the Quest. It is, perhaps, a strike against the wisdom of Elrond that he chose to send anyone but hobbits on the Quest; for if Bilbo and a few more Shirelings had gone, the entire enterprise would have been completed in a month."

Gimli stood thunderstruck. The other Dwarves sat, quiet and glaring. Whether they were aghast at Legolas speaking out of turn, or offended at what he'd said, wasn't clear. The Elf suspected that the former was the case, and that he'd be turned out of the wedding entirely. Then Gimli broke the silence with his laughter.

"I'd argue with you, friend Legolas," said the Dwarf-Lord, "but I don't think I can. Even if my father had not told me often of his travels with Bilbo, I have met a few Halflings in my time. I will not gainsay their fortitude." He sat down amid a chorus of excited laughter.

The black-robed Dwarf tilted his tankard in the Elf's direction. "We have not had many occasions that warranted a drinking-hall in several years," he said. "At the few we've had, no one's yet been able to stop our Lord from bragging once he started in on the War. I see that Lord Gimli was wise to persuade me to include you in our celebrations, though he may be regretting it now."

"Not even a little," Gimli said. "It's so rare for an Elf to best a Dwarf that I can afford him the victory. You'll note, Hanar, that the Lord couldn't place his own prowess above my own. He too must rely on the bravery of Halflings."

"You can't heckle me, Gimli," Legolas said. "I am not trying to boast."

"You should, though; if you're going to play one part of the game, you should be willing to submit yourself to the other."

"I would tire of hearing about all the forests he's walked through," Hanar said. "Let the Elf take a seat, so that we can prevent him from bragging about trees."

Gimli beamed at this honor, as if he were the outsider being welcomed to a Dwarven table. For Legolas's part, he regretted his hard thoughts about Dwarven courtesy. He was seated towards the middle of the table, where the younger Dwarves had gathered; he drank more rich beer than he meant to, and was soon laughing at the young Dwarves'--all cousins of Hanar--stories about all of the future-husband's main flaws, beginning with his irrational fear of moths.

Somewhere in the midst of his fifth mug, the Elf heard Gimli announce: "I think Hanar's ripe and ready for his contract!"

The Dwarves all turned their attention to the head of the table, and laughed heartily at Hanar's expression. While not incapacitated by drink, his face was flushed. His deep-set eyes widened with alcoholic panic. "Oh no! I'm too far gone to commit my name to anything!"

"Nonsense!" the blue-clad Dwarf sitting near him said. "You're just drunk enough! Let us visit your wife-to-be, and see how she feels about marrying you! Perhaps she has changed her mind."

"An'd never--" Hanar started, but was drowned out by the beer-driven merriment of his fellows. Against his loud protestations, he was seized by his family members, and driven like a wayward sheep out of the drinking-hall. Legolas rose to follow, and was swept away on a tide of laughing, singing Dwarves into the dimmed hallways of the Glittering Caves.

***

They came to another chamber, and after he was goaded by his kinsmen, Hanar led the group inside. Legolas was near the back of the line, but he could hear exclamations of joy and snatches of song long before he stepped into this new room. This was another dining-hall, not unlike the first, except for its table: it was somewhat shorter, covered in a white cloth, and had several platters of mostly-eaten food resting on its top. Empty mugs peppered its surface. Feeling lost in the great crowd, where he knew but one member (and Gimli was far across the room), he drifted to the outskirts, and ended up standing near the fireplace. There he watched as the Dwarves greeted one another, drank another round, and pretended not to look at him in their peripheral vision.

The Elf was embarrassed to realize that he, like most outside their race, could not tell who in the room was man or woman. He knew for certain that the Dwarves from the drinking-hall were all males, but that didn't mean that they were the only ones in all the Caves. The rarity of Dwarf-women surely meant that most of the smiling, bearded faces he saw were male ones. Yet there was no difference in dress or hair between either sex.

He picked out the future-wife by simple elimination: she was the only Dwarf apart from Hanar who was cloaked in black. His guess was confirmed when she was bracketed by Gimli and Hanar. Hanar had to be pushed into position by a grey-haired Dwarf in a yellow cloak; what remained uncovered of their faces told Legolas that they were too close in blood to be anything but father and son.

"Very well," said Gimli, letting his voice boom across the room, silencing the chatter of the guests. "It appears as though Hanar and An are determined to go through with their plans. Seeing as he's in the proper mind-set for a signing, I have here the marriage contract." He withdrew a thick scroll from beneath his cloak, and weighted it flat against a cleared spot on the table.

Legolas could clearly see the Cirth-lettering from his vantage point, but even if he could understand the language, he was too startled by the contract's existence to read it. A little bit of ceremony, he could understand and appreciate; but reducing the precious, passionate joys of love and new marriage to a business deal? He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Dwarves would think along such lines, but surprised he remained.

Gimli also produced pen and ink, and after setting the inkwell down by the contract, he offered the pen to An. Instead of taking the silvered instrument, she twiddled a braid from her beard between her fingers (and if that single lock was any indication, Dwarven hair-braiding was almost as intricate as that of Elves). "Begging your pardon, Lord, but I'm nowhere near as determined to sign that thing as Hanar. Let him sign it, and then convince some other poor girl into making her mark on it."

The Elf blinked. While jokes seemed to be a constant theme in this celebration, he could not tell whether An was play-acting or serious in her protestations. She certainly looked resolved enough: her dark-blue eyes were narrow, and her round face was set.

"Do not be so stubborn," said a nearby Dwarf. He was white-haired and white-cloaked. Upon his head was a winding diadem of crafted silver wire. "You promised Hanar to marry him a year ago. It would be churlish for you to break that promise."

"I promised to marry Hanar as he was a year ago, Mother," An said. "I do not recall promising to wed him as he is now."

As they argued, Hanar gave a nervous look to the pen. His father gave him a shove towards the table, which convinced him to pick the pen up and affix his name to the contract. Sighing, Hanar offered the instrument to An. "Come on, An--take me up. I'm not near as heavy a burden as you seem to think. I'm a clean and decent sort."

"I can think of many Dwarves who are clean and decent, which doesn't mean I want to marry them all," An said.

At this last refusal, Legolas's curiosity turned to dismay. The Dwarf-woman looked as stubborn as any of her kin, and showed no interest in backing down. He did not blame her reluctance in signing a contract, but it seemed an inadmissible part of the ceremony.

His worry must have shown on his face; for as An turned away from her mother to better ignore her protestations, she ended up facing Legolas. She saw his pale face, stared hard at it, then pursed her lips together, as though she were smothering some strong expression. "I'll have that pen now, Hanar, if only to save our esteemed company from fainting."

The gathering cheered the moment she asked for the pen; so loud was their bellowing and rattling of mugs that few, apart from Legolas himself, heard her comment about the Elf. Feeling somewhat mortified and confused, he remained on the edge of the crowd as An signed her contract. Once the parchment was rolled back up and pocketed by Hanar's father, the crowd called for more drinking. Gimli silenced them once more by speaking over them:

"Though we do enjoy our fun, the union of An and Hanar has its solemn side. It is a brave commitment they make before that which is holy, and before those with whom they work. Before the night wears on too long, it is time for them to be united. Let us go!"

***

The gathering filed out into the halls of the Caves. Some of the younger Dwarves still laughed and joked, but at their Lord's suggestion, most had sobered considerably. An and Hanar, who walked side by side after their fathers, were smiling grimly, as though they were about to embark on a laborious but well-loved task. He did not try to follow the wedding-party, or the varied guests, instead waiting by the wall for Gimli to find him.

They walked a little apart from the other Dwarves, giving Gimli the opportunity to speak: "You have the advantage of me, Legolas. While you now see how we Dwarves celebrate our unions, I haven't yet heard of how Elves go about it. How does it compare?"

"It doesn't," Legolas said. "The story of Elvish weddings is a short and boring one. If I ever did marry, I'd almost rather have a celebration like this--something that doesn't involve hours of awkward dinner-table conversation. I confess that I did enjoy reminding you of our hobbit friends, and the ale has been perfectly chilled in its cask. Yet I do not care for signing a contract. Nor do I understand why they both were so reluctant to sign it, since that seems to be common with your kinsmen."

His friend laughed. "All this time among us, and you still don't understand Dwarves, Legolas! I know you recall my writing to you that we do not often wed. Marriages are therefore treated like _mithril_ : with respect, with love, with caution, and with thorough care. All of our folk were involved in some way in these proceedings. By the time the wedding happens, we're all exhausted and ready for a drink and a laugh. The future-husband is expected to play at reluctance; and the future-wife is expected to refuse signing the contract several times. And, save for the sealing, everyone else is expected to not take himself too seriously."

Legolas ducked his head a little, letting his dark hair and his cowl slide over his embarrassed features. He was not often mocked by anyone, least of all someone who would be barely a stripling in Elf-years. He didn't care for how it felt. "And what is this sealing?"

"That. Well," Gimli started. He ceased to follow the other Dwarves, who were now walking, one by one, through another doorway. An's mother and another Dwarf stood outside the doorway, each next to a table loaded with more cups of alcohol. Everyone received a cup before walking in.

"It's like this," Gimli went on, and the hesitancy in his gruff voice drew Legolas's attention from the proceedings. "I've said already that it took some doing, getting you permission to witness everything. And you've seen that there are things I've had to concede. Everyone's been all right with your presence so far, but that's because you've mostly kept your word, and made them laugh and forget when you broke it.

"The sealing cannot be spoken in anything but Khuzdûl. Many of the words have no precise translation, and if they did, other languages still lack the sanctity needed in the ceremony. We cannot speak it in a way that you could understand. And we can't allow you to listen to us speaking in Khuzdûl for so long."

The Elf crossed his arms over his chest. He was trying to be patient with this alien experience, but Gimli was making that extremely hard on him. The Dwarven need for secrecy, for passing through life underground and for speaking in whispers, was a frustration to him. He was also offended at this challenge to his honesty, not the least because of who was delivering the challenge. "Where do you bid me to stand? The hall outside?"

"You're angry."

"You're perceptive."

Gimli sighed, then tugged his hood more carefully over his face. "I am sorry, Legolas. Were it me, I would let you hear, and rest assured that I could trust you with the secret of our language. But this decision didn't rely on my trust alone. I can name you _sigin-khuzd_ , but I can't promise that all Dwarves will treat you as one."

The Elf-Lord's anger withered at the sincerity in Gimli's voice. He calmed his pride, then nodded. "I understand. What shall I do, then?"

"You may come into the room with us, of course, and drink when everyone else is drinking. But they want you to stop your ears."

"Only if Gimli will stop his ears as well," he said. Almost against his will, he smiled at the memory of trying to enter Lothlórien with a Dwarf in the Company.

"Do not make me curse the stiff necks of Elves," Gimli said, smiling back.

"I would hate to hear you impersonate Elessar," Legolas said, and accepted the ear-plugs that Gimli offered him. When he put them in, he found that they must have been made to block out the racket of Dwarven construction: he could hear nothing but a thunderous silence.

They were both given cups outside of the doorway. The Elf was delighted to see that these were filled with a dark wine. He could not devise the everyday purpose of the room itself. The single lamp in it was fully opened, filling the air with cheerful light, polishing the jewels and precious stones in its curved walls and ceiling until they shone. A number of benches had been set up before a open area. The guests were all seated, with the closest blood-relatives sitting at the front; and before them all stood Hanar, An, and their fathers. The only benches with space on them were the two in the front.

The two Dwarves outside stepped within. Legolas was unsure of what to do, but Gimli did not abandon him to his confusion. He lightly touched the Elf's elbow, then strode up along the row of benches, leading Legolas to one of the unoccupied benches at the front of the room. The Dwarf-women that had been outside sat on the other.

Legolas sat awkwardly on the bench--it was made for Dwarf-legs, not his own, and he was nearly in danger of falling off of it. He ended up almost kneeling on the stone floor. Even so, this did not trouble him. He'd been scenting the wine ever since the cup had been handed to him, and he was craving a drink of it. Not even a poor seat could distract him from that.

As such, he paid as much attention to the sealing as he could without ears, so that he would not miss when it was time to take a drink. He watched as Hanar spoke at length to the gathered crowd. He wondered briefly what was being said: a recitation of poetry, something ancient or of Hanar's composition, or whatever it was that occurred to him on the spot. When he appeared to be done, Legolas saw the lips of the gathered Dwarves move in response; then each lifted their cup and drank.

The ceremony continued in this vein, with An speaking next, and then each of their fathers, and then Hanar again. If there was an officiant, as Gimli had been over the contract, Legolas could not see who it was. He received the impression that there was no need of an officiant, not now--that this was a ceremony that belonged to the Dwarves as a community, not to any singular authority (save only their God).

The fine details didn't trouble him overmuch. That first drink of wedding-wine made him forget the taste of Dalish alcohol, and each subsequent sip destroyed his opinion of nearly every type of liquor he'd had before. He no longer understood why Dwarves would drink so much beer when they had this available. He regretted the moment that he first saw the bottom of his cup, knowing that he wouldn't get more.

Gimli touched his arm once more, then casted his cup upon the floor. Many of the other Dwarves had done the same. Legolas finished his cup, resisted the temptation to lick at the last few drops of wine, and dropped his cup on the ground. Not long after, as An finished speaking, the last Dwarf finished his drink. The Dwarves all rose. Legolas stood as well, the motion an odd mix of graceful clumsiness, and followed after Gimli as they filed out of the room.

Once the gathering was in the cool halls of the Caves, their solemnity passed away. Gimli gestured for Legolas to remove his ear-plugs. When he did so, a titanic flood of sounds--cheers, laughs, songs, and drunken shouting--rushed into his ears. He grinned.

"It will be easier from here on," Gimli said, an apology woven into his voice. "My kin have asked nothing more of you for the evening. We are going to the reception hall, where we celebrate and entertain Hanar and An."

"I'm grateful for how generous they've been so far," Legolas said.

"You'll be more grateful once we get to the hall." He gave the Elf a knowing smile. "I gathered from the gleam in your eye that you appreciate our wedding-wine. The rest of it is in the hall, and we must drink it before the night is out."

"I would be honored to help."

***

The reception hall's original purpose was even more inscrutable. The chamber itself looked unfinished. It was large enough to comfortably accommodate all present, and leave room for tables loaded with rich-smelling food and casks of beer and wine. But the walls were sloping and unshaped. The gemstones and veins of precious ore weren't as sculpted as in other chambers, and the very floor was rough and uneven beneath his feet.

A small group of Dwarves gathered in one corner, took up their waiting instruments, and began to play and sing. The rest of the guests cheered; those who'd begun to drink and eat set down their plates and cups, and joined their kinsmen in a lively dance. Legolas, unsure of what part he was meant to play in this, remained near the doorway, his back to the knobbly wall. He did find the time to sneak a cup of wedding-wine for himself.

The songs the band performed were all either of celebration or of love, but not loves that the Elf could readily understand. They sang of their love of diamonds and gold, emeralds and iron, and _mithril_ above all; of mining, metal-working, crafting things that are beautiful and useful; of hordes of treasure long-remembered after their theft or destruction; of homeland, mountains, good stone, and Durin. And they glorified their heroes: Dwarf-men who slew great armies of Orcs and Wargs, others who won back (or tried to win back) lost territory and wealth, and of Dwarf-women who rode into battle as men, or defended their caves against invading hordes.

The Elf, from his vantage point outside of the crowd, noted that the dancing (like everything else) appeared to be random, but was tightly organized. There was a large outer circle of Dwarves, some linking arms and some standing alone, that spun around another, smaller circle. There were five such circles of counterrotating, dancing Dwarves, all of whom were arranged around a narrow center. The center appeared to be meant for Hanar and An's direct relations: he could see both sets of parents, and a few other Dwarves with strong resemblances towards the new husband and wife. Gimli was there, as he was their Lord. The happy new couple was absent.

The Elf-Lord puzzled over that until he was nearly done with his cup of wine. At that point, his friend noted where he was. Gimli plowed his way through the elaborate dance in order to reach Legolas. His hood had fallen back, temporarily revealing his thickly-braided brown hair and his smiling, well-shaped face. "I'm disappointed. I'd hoped you would be interested in joining us."

"I wouldn't be against it," said Legolas. "But I'm not sure why everyone has begun. You said we were to entertain Hanar and An, yet they are not here."

"They are alone," Gimli said. He suddenly realized that his hood had fallen back, and to Legolas's disappointment, he pulled it back on. "The contract isn't the only thing that makes a marriage. The new couple must be given a half-hour to themselves. They talk, share their thoughts on the night thus far, and plan as much of their lives as they care to. They will rejoin us when they are ready. Until then, there's no reason why we shouldn't start without them."

"Why this room, then?"

"I don't follow you."

"This room, it's--" The Elf gestured vaguely with his cup of wine. "It's not as fine as the others. I have gotten so used to the fastidious care you put into each cavern of the Caves that I can't help but notice when something isn't up to your usual standards. I mean no offense, Gimli, but this reception hall looks like nothing's been done in it. The floor isn't even, for one thing."

The Dwarf stared up at him for a moment, amused surprise plain upon his features. "Well, Legolas, your visits here have served you well. You have an excellent eye for my kinsmen's craftsmanship, such that you can perceive when it hasn't been employed. It does not surprise me that someone with eyes as keen as yours didn't fail to see that this room isn't finished. In all honesty, we chose it _because_ it isn't finished. The floor needs flattening, and our wedding dance was designed to both celebrate a new union and to help smooth out a floor. By the morning, only a bit of edge-work will need to be done, and we may begin to polish its walls."

"I should have guessed that Dwarves would find a way to relate everything, even dancing, to working with stone. I am ever amazed at the single-mindedness of you and your folk."

"You've no idea." There was a gleam in Gimli's dark eyes, one that was equally borne of drink and of some wicked spirit that had possessed him and robbed him of his usual calm. "I've made up my mind on something, _sigin-khuzd_."

"And what is that, _elvellon_?"

"You're a royal guest. I think that position deserves a special honor. You will join me, and Hanar and An's relations, in the centermost circle for a dance. Try to dissuade me only at your peril."

"Oh no." Legolas now regretted his polite non-answer, when Gimli had asked why he wasn't dancing. He could only imagine that a mean joke was being played on him. He was over a head taller than anyone else in the room, he had no clear idea on how the footwork would be executed, and if he did, his long limbs all but guaranteed that he'd do nothing but step on Dwarven boots. He had a little dignity, enough so that he did not want to be an slow-footed Elf among nimble Dwarves. "You may go ahead. I'm still drinking."

"The wine will be waiting for you when the first dance is over."

"I've had nothing to eat since I arrived!"

"That will be waiting, too. And you cannot pretend that Elves can starve to death." He held out his hand, waiting for Legolas to turn over his cup.

The Elf clung to it. "Gimli, I'll stand out like--"

"Like a Dwarf among Elves and Men," he finished for him. "I understand that awkwardness, for I've endured it before. It's high time that you understood it, too. Come with me!"

Against strenuous protesting, Gimli took his cup and set it aside. He all but dragged Legolas through the circles of Dwarves. The crowd was indeed amused at his appearance among them; the Elf saw Frár grinning at him as he passed through the third circle, and the wedding-party clapped once he was in the very thick of the dance. He thought they were being at least a little sarcastic.

An's mother slapped him on the shoulder, almost making him wince, then seized his arm in hers. She took it upon herself to show him a few of the basic kicks and weaves, and to explain that in the innermost circle, their job was to humiliate themselves for the amusement of the newly-married couple. Legolas was apt at learning each move, but the sight of a nervous-looking Elf being taught a traditional dance by an elderly Dwarf-woman was hilarious to any who looked on.

Once he realized that, no matter what he did, he was going to be laughed at, Legolas felt strangely freed. There was no point in struggling to be dignified when, after all, he could be having fun. He was traded off between An and Hanar's mothers, both of whom were patient and entertained by his blend of Elvish dance with Dwarvish kicks and linking of arms. He was soon laughing at himself as heartily as any of the Dwarves. A never-ending dervish of multi-colored cloaks and merry faces rotated around him, and his ears were full of the music of drum and horn, pipe and throat, harp and boot.

At one point, he was spun so quickly by Hanar's mother that he tumbled against Gimli. The Dwarf-Lord, as joyous with ale as most of his kin, took Legolas's arm in his own. Gimli danced with him, while he sang with the band of the Arkenstone and Legolas laughed uncontrollably, working a tight circle around the wedding-party.

Suddenly the gathered Dwarves loudly cheered, the racket echoing off the unshaped, glittering stone walls around them. It seemed as though only a few minutes had passed, but the half-hour of isolation was apparently over. Hanar and An had made their way to the innermost circle. An was holding a mug of beer she'd grabbed on her way into the hall.

Immediately An and Hanar's fathers disappeared. The newlyweds were welcomed among their relations and their Lord with embraces and whispered words. And in a moment, their fathers had returned--along with a few younger Dwarves. These men dragged a set of metal-wrought chairs into the middle of the dance-floor. Each chair was of silver bright, shining almost like stars under the glare of the lamps, and etched all over with many runes.

Hanar shook his head, and allowed himself to be forced by his kin to the chair wrought by his father. Both he and his new wife sat down. To Legolas's amazement, their families then gathered around them and tried to hoist the chairs--with Hanar and An in them--into the air. Hanar was lifted easily enough, but An, who was still hanging onto her mug of beer, fell off before she was fully held up. This convinced her to shove her drink into her mother's hands. She was then picked up successfully.

An and Hanar whirled above the heads of their fellow Dwarves. Legolas was well familiar with the strength and endurance of their kind, and was unsurprised to see how easily and how long such heavy chairs could be kept aloft with someone sitting in them. The band struck up a rapid, lively song that had no words, its rhythm blended between the thunder of drums, the clapping of hands, and the stamping of boots.

Gimli left his side, moving to help Hanar's family support his weight. Now bereft of a partner, Legolas contented himself with clapping in time and watching the chair-dance. The new husband and wife were practically juggled from one side of the circle to the next, swaying somewhat in time with the music. Hanar, now clearly drunk, was laughing fit to split his sides. An held fast to the seat of her chair with both hands. As the Elf watched, Hanar's father passed him a thin rope. The Dwarf-man unrolled it, then tossed one end to An. She did not try to grab at it; it fell off her lap.

"Oh An, come on! Catch hold of it!"

"You're mad! I've fallen out once already, and I'm not doing it again!"

"Stop being so practical!" he said, and tossed it her way again. "It's traditional!"

"No matter how traditional, it isn't worth a broken head!" she said. The rope slid back beneath her family's feet once more, and Hanar gave up.

Legolas, now more familiar with Dwarven thought on weddings, knew immediately that this was but another game: the object being to stay in one's chair as long as possible. In their case, Hanar and An held out for about ten minutes. Then Hanar suddenly fell back hard against the back of his chair, tilting it too far. His cousins lost their grip on its back legs and upended him onto the floor.

The band heard the raucous laughter of the crowd, sussed out that one of the newlyweds had fallen, and began a different tune. As Hanar was helped to his feet by his family, the Elf found his arm seized once more by An's mother. The dancing and revelry began anew as a few of the Dwarves removed the chairs.

And Legolas found that he could not track this time, either. In only a twinkling, it seemed that a dozen songs were sung and a hundred rotations were completed. He danced with An's mother, then Hanar's, then An herself, then Hanar's father (until the elder Dwarf attempted a flip, that was, and ended up lying stunned on the floor for a few moments).

He thought to dance with Gimli again, if only for the amusement of a Dwarf-Lord and Elf-Lord arm in arm, but he had difficulty in finding him. When he did, the Dwarf-Lord seemed too busy with others to be bothered. Legolas turned, and felt his arm once again gripped by firm hands. Gimli grinned up at him, and they danced together for several minutes, until he--having gotten the knack of spinning others from the mothers of the newlyweds--gave Gimli a twirl that sent him flying across the inner circle.

After some time, the music changed in tone and slowed in tempo. Legolas supposed that this was a well-recognized signal, for when it happened, the Dwarves ceased their circling and trampled towards the tables. He followed his friend to a table heavy with food, at which sat several other Dwarves he didn't know. One of the chairs had been built to fit someone of his size.

"Now you may save yourself from starving," Gimli said. "An and Hanar will begin our drinking. We can join in on their fourth round."

"I would prefer to join them now, but the wine is worth waiting for," Legolas said.

The black-clad couple sat in their silver chairs at their own table, where they could be viewed by everyone gathered. Two mugs were filled with beer from a nearby cask and brought to them. Hanar and An tilted their mugs towards one another, then drank. The Dwarves who had not yet started eating hooted and laughed, yelling encouragements to both husband and wife to out-drink one another. Were bets being taken, Legolas would have put his gold on An. She both began the game less drunk than her husband, and took her beer extremely seriously.

Though Hanar began to list to his right in the middle of his third mug, when they reached their fourth round, neither had yet given in. As promised, more drink was distributed to the guests immediately. A red-clad Dwarf set a large glass of dark wine before Legolas, the first of many. Those gathered knew enough about Elves to realize that hoping for him to faint from alcohol was foolish; but still, they were duly impressed with how well he kept up with their folk.

The Dwarves tucked into their food with a will. Legolas had never developed a taste for the sort of fare that Gimli loved, and had never been expected to, anymore than he expected for Gimli to fall in love with trees. The braided, fire-baked bread wasn't bad, and neither was the roast lamb. In the end, thought, he drank more than he ate.

The others at his table were all eager to tell the Elf stories: elaborate jokes, embarrassing tales about the newly-wedded couple, a few amusing anecdotes revolving around Gimli. They were completely uninterested in any stories that Legolas knew, save those that related to Gimli or to things they understood well. He ended up telling them of how Gimli bested him at Orc-slaying in Helm's Deep--something that he didn't find very funny, but that the Dwarves took great joy in hearing from a different perspective. His comrade, meanwhile, said little and ate hugely of everything (it had likely been long since his last meal).

When their food had been consumed, the wedding party rose and cleared the tables of all the guests. They began hauling dirtied dishes out of the reception hall. Many Dwarves, now abysmally drunk, returned to the somewhat-flattened floor and took up dancing once again. Hanar and An were among them, and as she was the more sober of the two, she appeared to be leading him as they danced. A few of the elder Dwarves lingered at the tables--not from age, but from their determination to drink more ale and to smoke a few pipes.

Gimli seemed in no hurry to rejoin his kinsmen on the dance-floor. He sat with Legolas instead, he with his ale and the Elf with his wine, talking of the Glittering Caves and Ithilien, old comrades and departed friends. He smoked his pipe as they spoke, and occasionally blew a few smoke-rings for his own amusement. Legolas paid little attention to the rest of the gathering, but he did mark when An led Hanar out of the reception hall. If anyone else saw them--arms around each other's shoulders, Hanar leaning against her for support, a few strawberry-blonde braids slipping free from under her cowl--they behaved as though they saw nothing. The Elf recalled the Dwarven need of secrecy and did not speak of it.

The party continued without them until three hours later, when the newlyweds' parents wished the guests a lively night, then excused themselves. This was another unspoken signal: most of the guests stayed on, but a good number followed after.

"It's not polite to leave until they do," Gimli said, answering Legolas's thought. He took a draw from his pipe, exhaled a thick cloud of Longbottom Leaf, and knocked the bowl clean against the rim of his empty mug. "If you like, we can stay up a while longer. Or, if you've tired of my company, I can show you to your rooms."

Legolas felt a touch of amazement at Gimli's choice of words. "I haven't tired of your company, but I do think I'm tired of songs about rocks. I also suspect that your kin might attack me if I try to drink anymore of their wine. You may walk me there."

***

Compared to the hot vibrancy of the reception hall, the caverns they walked through were as cool and dark as tombs. The quiet, marred only by the tramp of Gimli's boots and the whisper of Legolas's shoes, weighed heavily on his ears. The Elf didn't mind in the slightest. He was still surrounded by a mountain, but the calm made that easier to bear.

"You cannot make me wait any longer," Gimli said after they'd passed through several chambers. "I've only asked you once what you thought of it all. I told myself I would wait to ask again until you'd experienced everything. How did you find it?'

They walked in silence for a few moments. "I find that your marriages are as lovely, and cunningly executed, as anything else of Dwarven make. And that while I've seen many drunken people dance on top of chairs, I've never seen them hoisted into the air."

"Oh, that," Gimli said, a smile in his voice. "They were trying to stay in their chairs for longer than their parents did at their weddings. For Hanar and An, that amounted to ten minutes."

"Must you compete over everything?"

"Is an Elf really asking me that? From what I've heard--"

"The wine was particularly excellent. I can't imagine why you only drink it on occasions such as this. If I could, I'd drink it every day."

"You must learn to appreciate fine things, Legolas. You would love that wine less if you didn't have to crave it. Yet I suppose that Elves are more tolerant than others, and do not understand having too much of a good thing."

"I don't often tire of things that I love, no." He paused. "I thank you for inviting me, and for all the hospitality you've shown since I arrived. I'm honored that you and your people trust me enough to let me witness it. I don't know how you're planning on topping this entertainment, though."

"I wouldn't try," Gimli said. His face was temporarily illuminated by a weak beam of lamp-light. He looked both exceedingly cheerful and on the edge of drunk: ale-flowers bloomed red in his cheeks, and his dark-brown eyes gleamed. He took another step, and his face fell immediately back into shadow. "I'm glad that it pleased you. But I shouldn't wonder that an Elven ceremony would be even grander. With the time you've got to plan, you must have something elaborate."

Legolas laughed. "You're making it more complicated than it is. You Dwarves think of a wedding as something that affects the entire community, and your traditions reflect that thinking well. Elves do not see it quite the same way. Marriage is about the love of the couple, and as such, it's no one's business but their own. The only ceremony involved is the exchanging of rings. Then, after consummation, they are considered married. The wedding-feast is polite, but not strictly required."

"Oh, you've misunderstood us. Weddings aren't only about the community. We do marry for love--most of the time." Gimli fell silent. The Elf presumed he was internally debating over whether that last clause was wise.

"What about the rest of the time? Are those marriages arranged?"

"To my knowledge, only Men arrange marriages," Gimli said, a hint of dislike in his voice. "It's a little hard to understand. But we don't use this set of ceremonies solely for weddings. There aren't many Dwarf-women, and not all of the ones we do have are as understanding as An towards the failings of men. Yet we still have floors that need to be smoothed, and we still have need of the camaraderie and merriment that these ceremonies provide. It has not happened in my presence, but I'm told that identical ceremonies are sometimes performed for the benefit of two Dwarf-men of close friendship."

Legolas stared. In his many years, he'd never heard of anything like what Gimli was describing. Much of what he'd seen this night was new to his experience, but this was uniquely strange. "You're joking. It's an actual marriage? Or is it merely for the ceremony?"

"They're both permitted to marry Dwarf-women, if they can get them," Gimli said. "It's usually expected that they live near one another."

"Not with one another?"

"No, that would be tasteless."

"Then why hold it for them at all? If all that you need is a smoothed-out floor, why not hold an ordinary party and perform the same dance?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Legolas. Here are your rooms."

They stood outside the doorway to a private dwelling--unlike the communal rooms they'd entered, this one actually had a door. The door was of the same stone as the walls, save that any gems in its surface had been smoothed out or removed. The lightest touch would cause the door to revolve open so long as the Dwarves living within wanted it to. Though Legolas did not love the mountains or their bones, he did appreciate the Dwarves' craftsmanship.

He had traveled one hundred leagues to be here, and done so more quickly than usual; yet in spite of that, and the sea of wine he'd drunk, he of course was not fatigued. He barely even thought of his rooms, though they were now before him. Rather, the Elf's mind was still turning over this concept of allowing men to pledge themselves in marriage to one another. Not solely due to its strangeness, either: for it recalled how, before leaving Ithilien, he'd briefly pondered the secrets that he and Gimli kept for one another.

He'd nearly spoken of it at Helm's Deep, in the brief minutes they were alone before the attack; but the War rose above everything. It demanded their full time and attention, lest they fail themselves and those who relied on them. Once it ended, they'd both become busy with their separate lives. When Gimli wasn't laboring at the gardening of the Glittering Caves, or governing his kinsmen, his thoughts had all bent on working the perfect crystals around Galadriel's hair. Legolas had not begrudged his forgetfulness; for when the Elf-Lord wasn't managing his people, his own thoughts were not always with Gimli, but with his longing for the Sea and all that lay beyond it. And after a time, keeping their secret had become less of an accident and more of a habit.

Yet here they were: no War, no looming Ocean, and no one nearby to demand his attention. He was still soaring on the wedding-wine and revelry that had composed his evening, and less willing to think of obligations or taboos. "Gimli--"

"I thought you were dreaming awake," the Dwarf said. "It's good to know that I won't have to carry you in there. If you don't need anything else, I'll be retiring."

"I assure you that I can still walk. But that doesn't mean that you must leave. I don't meet with you annually so that I can witness your kinsmen's parties. Enjoyable as those are, I did travel far to see you. Would it be too much to ask you to stay a while and talk?"

"In there?" Gimli sounded highly incredulous. Legolas wondered whether Dwarves thought it vulgar to be invited into someone else's rooms, even if the Dwarf in question owned those rooms. "We might have stayed at the party if you wanted to talk."

"I wanted to talk with you, not shout at you over a band and a battalion of dancers. Stay with me awhile."

"I'm not... Well... " He quieted, but did not immediately leave. That measured hesitation made Legolas hope, and that hope gave him courage. He leaned down and, as if it were nothing, pressed a quick kiss against Gimli's silent lips. The hem of his cowl fell forward on his head, met with the hem of Gimli's hood, shielded this moment from the empty darkness that surrounded them.

One kiss, and Gimli did not flinch away. So easy and pleasant it was that the Elf couldn't fight the temptation to give him another. This second affront stirred Gimli's blood: rather than standing surprised and still, he met Legolas a third time, with his own demands. For some minutes they stood thus, half in shadows, and Legolas knew little but Gimli's hard hand gripping his waist, the faint tinge of acrid smoke that clung to his hair, and the imploration of his lips.

Then the Dwarf finally seemed to realize where he was, and what he was doing. He did not step away, nor did he release Legolas's waist, but he did speak. "I can't."

"No," Legolas said. He felt dismayed over the note of desperation entering his voice. "You can. Nothing stops you, myself least of all."

"I still have obligations," Gimli said. "I said I'd be retiring, but not right away. There are things I must oversee once the party fully winds down. I must also prepare for Hanar and An's departure in the early morning. An will visit her homeland one last time with her family. Then--"

The Elf-Lord did not believe that his friend was making excuses, for Gimli's rough voice was regretful, near to bitter. He could not keep his friend from his duties--he knew better than to try changing a Dwarf's mind--but he still tried once more: "Stay just half an hour, if time constrains you."

"Legolas, if it were any other night, you would find me impossible to be rid of. But I dare not lie down, even if I were not alone. I've had a bit more ale than is good for me. I don't know that I'd fall asleep, but I do know that I could not enjoy those few minutes with you as well as I'd like."

He smiled, pulling that familiar mask over his disappointment. Though he was frustrated, his heart felt strangely light. This night had given him everything it had to offer. He couldn't find it in himself to condemn his friend's kiss, or the wedding-wine, as inadequate. And he did have much to look forward to, after Hanar and An's departure. Demanding anything of the Dwarf would gain him nothing. Letting him go would guarantee him some days' worth of Gimli's undivided attention.

"Then I'll wait for the time you deem to be fit," Legolas said, "and whether we talk or say nothing, I'll take pleasure in your company."

-end-


End file.
